He was coming. She ran, taking the form of an antelope; silently galloping through the empty halls. She was the last one left. The one he was after. Rubbing away the black, morbid tears, she focused on the corridor ahead. Carelessly, she stumbled. She cursed, why did she have to be the one who inherited the short legs in the family?
A new sensation crept across her body. Something, warm, was comforting her hands; something was tracing the lines of her palms. She looked down. Her hands were stained red; blood red. George Harris lay in front of her, his lifeless body lying there. The blood was oozing from a gunshot to his head. He was staring at her, the twinkle in his eyes, pleading her to save him. If only she had time.
Time. How long had she been sitting there for. She must move. He could be behind her any moment and one shot, would make his destruction a success. She had to survive; she would not let the mortal reaper win.
She whispered a goodbye and hoped that George would become an angel. She wished that every student, who had died here, would get their vengeance. Vengeance, that was what had caused the trouble in the first place. If only people had left Tom alone; if only Tom had been more sociable. This would never have happened.
Tom had snake eyes which stared through his greasy fringe. He was as white as snow and was verging on being an anorexic. He was a tortured soul and the school bullies took advantage of his weaknesses. But now Tom was ready to seek his revenge. The revenge of years of pain, hatred and sadness. The school bullies were no longer in control; Tom was.
Click. Click. Click, click, click. He was coming. Click. Slowly climbing the stairs. Clang. He was reloading, the pistol of death. She felt lightheaded, she was shaking, heaving. Her lips were clamped shut to keep her from retching. Spinning round she searched for a hiding place. Every second she felt death beckoning her.